


this is the end of us

by mind_boggling



Series: til the end of the line [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: I did, I promise you, M/M, Stucky - Freeform, i really did i warned you, sorry this is severe Angst, this is really very sad i warned you, when i tell you i cried writing this, you’ve been warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 11:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15072101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mind_boggling/pseuds/mind_boggling
Summary: Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield.





	this is the end of us

**Author's Note:**

> a little stucky scene that i’d like to happen in A4 but 100% won’t because marvel are homophobic xxxx
> 
> based off [this](http://umikochannart.tumblr.com/post/171963020207/if-they-hurt-you-they-hurt-me-too) wonderful fan art which made me cry like a lil bitch

_Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield._

Side by side, movements in a swift synchronisation, minds wired as one. Every step is together, every manipulation of the enemy, in joint velocity. There’s communication in their brains, shared looks between each other to overcome obstacles in their way, or defeat a common enemy stood in front of them. There need no words be spoken, only a swing of an arm and a deadly weapon tossed between them.

Steve, for one, had been doing this whole thing a lot longer than Bucky. He’d had experience, he’d been fighting enemies bigger than himself for a longer time than Bucky had. Bucky had the strength in a metal arm to fend for himself, and the manipulation in his brain to hardwire violence and murder into his eyes, into every movement, every wound. Steve put on a show with his shield, tossed it in retrospect and caught it forcefully when it bounced back to him. A worthy partner. Someone to trust, something to rely on for back up and protection. Something indestructible. 

Bucky, on the other hand, had nothing but a dark void in the back of his head. A void he tried to fill with lost memories and tainted thoughts, things that were bloodstained and tiring, things that meant nothing to him anymore but things he knew should mean something. Anything. 

Bucky was reliant on a metal arm forced upon him by an enemy, something they used as a tool of weaponry, something he couldn’t quite use to his advantage just yet. Something he was afraid of. Something of such deadly force, such power and madness that when it overcame his sheer emotion and rationality, it was to be feared. 

And he looked up to Steve. The irony dripped, thinking of Steve in the 40s, of how he was so tiny and thin in comparison to Bucky himself. In his fragmented and mutilated memories, Steve stood out like a sore thumb. He was the one thing Bucky remembered, the one thing that through all the depths of hell he travelled, was still there to centre him. To guide him home, to keep him somewhat sane. The one person who helped him fight back all those years he managed to stay clear of Hydra’s manipulation. Twenty long years.

Because he assumed Steve alive. He assumed the best because his situation was the worst. Bucky awaited the parallel in his life for so long, waited for Steve to rescue him from Hydra once again. But years went by, five, ten years, and Steve was still nowhere to be seen. And Hydra pummelled him with new victims, new enemies, targets, other things to focus on. Other things to centralise his thoughts on. Things that he wasn’t supposed to care lovingly for, things he needed to direct anger and murder and vengeance at.

And Hydra lost Steve in Bucky’s mind. They forced him out, so quickly that all the efforts Bucky put in to keep Steve at the forefront of his mind, to picture him and their pillow forts when he endured torture and pain and a loss so great he physically ached. Steve was lost within the void, and Bucky was a mess. His compass had fallen off of its axels, not being able to calculate and recalculate no matter how hard he tried. 

Steve lost his footing at the forefront of Bucky’s mind, which is why Bucky stayed so close to him during any battle. They were interconnected, and after Shuri had completely wiped all Hydra’s manipulation from Bucky’s mind, he focused solely on Steve. 

Because it all came flooding back to him in little moments. These moments where Steve would say something about home, about Brooklyn in the 40s, and Sam would’ve completely took it out of him. Joked around, told Steve that _dude, keep the jokes to this century, huh?_ And Steve would laugh, forcefully and halfheartedly, because the jokes hit closer than he wanted them to. Bucky would smile in response, in mutual understanding, as Steve looked toward him and acknowledged his support. 

Moments when Bucky would lay against the pillows in his hut, their comfort being more than he expected. A change from the mattress he slept on in his apartment, a change from the complete discomfort of Sarah Rogers’ pillows on the floor of Steve’s home. Those distant memories— a floodgate to the things Bucky calls home. To the warmth that it provided. 

And sadly for Bucky, it wasn’t always things with comfort and happiness that unlocked memories from before; the hailing of bullets and acidic gun smoke choking his lungs bought back memories of the Howling Commandos, the memories of himself standing in the Smithsonian in front of a picture of the man he was supposed to be. Memories of being so frustrated with himself that he couldn’t remember, that he couldn’t become the person he once was again. That as he learned more and more about Steve’s legacy, he couldn’t be near his side without risking endangerment.

It’s moments like these where Bucky loses himself for a mere second, before an incoming threat drags his mind back to reality. He raises his gun and shoots the oncoming targets until they’re laying on the ground in front of him. Panting for breath, he looks around for Steve. 

He was fighting with Natasha, on Bucky’s left when he last clapped eyes on him, and when Bucky turns he sees Nat standing over the ground looking down in horror. Bucky’s eyes avert almost immediately, to Steve, blood covered, convulsing in pain upon the ground violently. Bucky can only drop his gun, feeling himself trip as he stumbles towards Steve. And as painful as it is for Nat, she continues fending off other assailants, tears squeezing from her eyes in violent sobs. 

“Steve,” Bucky tries, a wobble evident in his tone. He grabs Steve’s arms, not even caring whether he’s too gentle or too hard, and he pulls Steve toward him. Steve’s face is covered in blood, his eyes widened in fear as he stares at the sky, eyes rolling toward Bucky’s quickly.

“Buck,” He says, short of breath as blood dribbles from his chin. Bucky feels his eyes fill with tears, and he growls them away, fighting to stay strong in front of Steve. And the instinct comes flooding back— the protection that he gave Steve after Sarah died, the many bulky and stacked jerks from Brooklyn that Steve took the liberty of picking a fight with, that Bucky had to fend off. Because Steve was so little. So small, and so weak for someone who had such fighting spirit and courage. Steve was so small again, lay in Bucky’s arms as the life slipped out of his eyes. 

“Hey, hey, Steve,” Bucky says, forcing a smile on his face. “You’re alright, you’re okay, buddy” Steve just smiles back in response, head dropping from side to side as Bucky tries to keep him centralised on his eyes. “It’s alright, it’s alright. Look at me. Keep your eyes on me, alright?”

Watching Steve dying in front of his eyes let Bucky’s tears loose, and they fell onto Steve’s bloodstained cheeks, causing it to run down the side of his face. Bucky couldn’t hold the sobs in any longer, and he took a breath in as he sobbed aloud, his grip tightening on Steve’s arms. He squeezed his eyes shut, looking toward the dark clouds above them as he let out a yell of fear, frustration, panic. Bucky pulled Steve closer to him, moved his body so Steve’s head lay on his chest, Bucky’s hands around the bottom of his chin to keep him close.

“Buck,” Steve tried, voice barely audible. “You kept your promise. It’s okay. I’m with you, too, even if I’m not”

_“Thank you, Buck. But I can get by on my own” Steve’s shrivelled face feigned content, hiding a lifetime of sadness he had no idea about as of yet._

_“The thing is, you don’t have to. I’m with you til the end of the line, pal” And Bucky was as hopeful as ever that their friendship would last their lifetime, without ever being apart from one another._

“Stop it,” Bucky snapped. “Stop it, don’t try to talk, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here. I got you. I got you, Steve, just like you got me, yeah?” 

Steve laughed, followed by a splutter of blood that shot onto Bucky’s hand. He bought a hand up toward where Bucky’s sat on his wound, trying to keep pressure on where the bullet had entered. Steve placed his gloved hand on top of Bucky’s, but he felt nothing due to the metal. He felt nothing. “I’m sorry” Steve tried again, “I’m sorry, Buck. I’m sorry for the time we lost”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked quickly, “What do you mean? Steve, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t. Hey, look at me. It wasn’t”

“I should’ve,” more blood. Steve spoke in the blood he lost, and his time was wilting faster with each breath. “Tried harder. I should’ve tried harder, Buck. On the train” 

And the source of all Bucky’s nightmares had gone full circle. It slapped him in the face, and the fears and weaknesses crawled out from the black hole inside of his mind, as well as Steve laying and dying right in front of him. His two greatest fears: reliving his death, and watching Steve endure his. 

“No,” Bucky replied, more and more tears dropping down onto his armour, onto the top of Steve’s head. “No, Steve it wasn’t your fault. You did all you could, it’s okay. It’s okay, hey, look at me! Stop it, look at me, Steve!”

The life was draining quicker and quicker from Steve’s eyes, and his body became lifeless quicker than Bucky had liked. He held Steve and he held the weight of his body on his arms, although it was easier than it would’ve been had this happened in World War 2. His feelings suddenly became choked in Bucky’s throat, and he had the sudden urge to get them out almost immediately, before it was too late, before he was gone. Love. “Steve, Steve look at me. Look at me, listen, Steve”

Bucky forced Steve’s head toward his own, and shook him gently so that his eyes opened and locked eyes with his own. Steve regained consciousness for those mere few seconds, as Bucky felt a smile appear on his face. “I’ve wanted to tell you, Steve, I’ve wanted to for so long but I just couldn’t get the words out and I didn’t know if you’d feel the same as me but I have to, I have to tell you”

“I know, Buck” Steve answered. “So tell me now” 

And before Bucky could completely get his words out, Steve took his final breath, and died on Bucky’s chest amidst the blood and the battlefield.  


**Author's Note:**

> find me elsewhere:
> 
>  **twitter:** vanlangs  
>  **tumblr:** bisexualieberman


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